


Low Sample Sizes, No Strings

by pyroclast



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22263421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyroclast/pseuds/pyroclast
Summary: At the reception on opening night of a major medical research conference, surely Angela won't be so unlucky to run into her ex...
Relationships: Moira O'Deorain/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	Low Sample Sizes, No Strings

I selected carefully from the artfully-arranged hors d'oeurves as I considered the best way to extricate myself from this situation. Bathroom? Family emergency? 

I was speaking with, or to be more precise, being spoken at by the notorious Dr. Harold Simms-Parsons. He was normally a fairly pleasant man, but at research conferences he worked himself up into such a self-promotional furor that he would talk someone's ear off for hours without realizing it. Escape was the only plausible survival strategy.

He was explaining at length the techniques he used to denature some prions his lab was studying. I had been trying very hard to be polite, but after at least a solid ten minutes of it, my patience was wearing thin.

"Say, Harold," called a voice behind me. My spirits rose at the lifeline some noble soul was throwing me. "I was just talking to Michael Bolt over there and he told me he had some questions about your research." But wait, that voice couldn't possibly be -- "Angela, what a pleasant surprise. Your new hairstyle is lovely."

It was Moi-Dr. O'Deorain. I froze my polite smile in place as I tried to ignore the buoyant baggage threatening to overwhelm my thoughts. Despite myself, I had to admit she looked as handsome as ever in a sharply-tailored, expensive-looking dark suit.

"Oh! I was just explaining my latest work to Angela," Harold said. "It would be terribly boorish of me to leave before finishing..."

"Not at all, Harold. I think Michael has to leave before too long." Dr. O'Deorain raised an immaculately-manicured nail to her cheek and tapped a few times as she lightly furrowed her brow in thought. "Tell you what, how bout I keep the lady company in your stead?"

"Oh, would you?" Harold looked relieved. Surely Dr. O'Deorain had contrived this apparently-selfless act of assistance, but he seemed none the wiser. "Please excuse me Angela, I really ought to go answer Michael's questions before he has to leave..."

"By all means." I managed, tearing my eyes away from Dr. O'Deorain long enough to watch him get out of earshot. "...Thank you."

"But of course; it was my duty to step in. I wouldn't wish Harold on my worst enemy."

I raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you just sic him on Michael?"

"Ah, well, perhaps I would after all." She shrugged. "But it's of no great consequence. More importantly, that dress...I'm at a loss for words." She leisurely drank me in with a vaguely predatory expression on her face. My dress was a long blue sleeveless affair with neither a low cut nor an especially tight fit, but her expression managed to make me feel as though I were wearing nothing at all.

"Then let's stop talking," I managed, popping in my mouth the mini-quiche I'd picked from the refreshments table while unsuccessfully attempting to ditch Harold. I turned around and started walking over to the bar.

She followed beside me, and I didn't have to look over to know she was smirking. "Angela, so forward! What would our colleagues think?"

I could feel my face flush and could only hope it wasn't visible between the lighting and my makeup. "In your dreams, Dr O'Deorain." Well, I am an adult; I can admit even after everything I still find her physically attractive. Intoxicating, even; Just like any other toxin, the prescribed treatment was to prevent further exposure and then to flush out remaining poison from my system. Unfortunately for me, I'd suffered long-term exposure and my immune response was compromised.

"Ha ha; That I can neither confirm nor deny." Despite everything, her sharp smile still felt comfortable. The area around the bar was less boisterous than the central ballroom where our more enthusiastic colleagues were debating good-naturedly about something or other the administration was doing or should be doing. Dr O'Deorain addressed the attendant "'Evening barkeep, can I get a glass of port for the lady and an iced brandy for myself?"

"Coming right up!" 

"As confident as ever, I see," I remarked, not especially pleased for her to be ordering for me again. Dr O'Deorain could be surprisingly good at anticipating my needs, but that was a lifetime ago. Well, to be fair, we were at the bar and dessert wines were my usual drink of choice, and it wasn't a great leap that a discussion with Dr. Bolt might induce a girl to drink. Whether she realized that I felt the same about a discussion with her was another question entirely. The answer to which was no, almost certainly not.

She shrugged dramatically as we moved over to a standing table a few meters from the main bar. "And why not? I've every reason in the world to be confident." She leaned in conspiratorially, her eyes twinkling in delight. She was too close, her breath tickling the skin of my face, and suddenly we were grad students again, flush with youth and opportunity, quizzing each other over a cellular senescence midterm and flirting when she suddenly tossed aside her flashcards and -- Her voice brought me back to the present and I blinked the reverie away and cleared my throat to hide how flustered I felt. "I've made another breakthrough regarding the stability of biotic particles; I've achieved, oh, just over a dozen seconds of stability"

"What? You're kidding!" My lab had been working on the same problem for months. The exotic matter was energy-expensive to generate, and the short half-life, typically measured in milliseconds outside of containment, limited its usefulness in even clinical settings, to say nothing of field applications. 

Her stupid smug smile suggested she was, in fact, not kidding. "Angela, dear, you know I never kid when it comes to science."

Our drinks arrived and Moira retreated from her unilateral invasion of my personal space. We sipped for a minute, and I waited for her to continue. But she had my attention and she knew it; I'd have to ask for it if I wanted to hear any more. Finally, with only mild irritation I broke the silence, my interest well and truly piqued. "So will you tell me how you did it or must I wait for the publication?" 

"Patience never was your strongest attribute, Angela." She shrugged her shoulders and twisted her left hand in a practiced, theatrical motion. "But I'm little better, sad to say. Though I do so love to watch you squirm." 

I coughed, surreptitiously checking that no one else was in earshot and drank a gulp of my wine. "Um."

Moira grinned, enjoying my flustered reaction with obvious relish.

I'm not going to admit that it turned me on, but I won't claim it didn't either. I had to shut this down before either of us did anything we might regret. Or worse, anything we might not regret. "Look, Moira...We're not together anymore."

"Why not?"

"You know why not. Please don't make me say it again." I rubbed my forehead. "You perverted my life's work into an awful weapon. What's worse, you did it just to prove to the world that you could. You left for months without so much as a word. And now you're back as though nothing happened, ready to pick up where we left off? Who the hell do you think you are?" My vision clouded with anger, definitely angry tears not sad ones, and I blinked until it went away.

Moira frowned and she almost looked contrite. "Alright. Let me express my apologies for interrupting your evening then, Angela." She made a slight bow and turned to go.

I sighed. Like a reflex, I called out, "Wait!" Unfortunately, I had no idea what to say next. Sure, there was no longer an 'us', and maybe I had some repressed issues, but that didn't mean she and I couldn't enjoy each other's company at a professional event, did it? We were both adults here. As long as I was careful, there was no reason we couldn't converse professionally. Right? "Um. Aren't you going to tell me how you did it?"

Moira covered her surprise with the smile that won my heart several years before. "I'd love to, Angela."

-

With her usual abrasive confidence, she explained what she'd done to stabilize the biotics and how she'd done it. I asked several questions and to her credit, she answered freely and quite thoroughly. I scribbled down notes all the while on napkins from the bar to ensure the insights would survive the night; by the end we'd both downed a few more drinks and had moved to an under-trafficked corner of the venue to avoid further interruptions. Somehow along the way, the conversation topic had changed to Moira telling me about her more eccentric co-researchers.

"I swear, every time she pipettes she's humming 'Ride of the Valkyries'. Don't get me wrong; I like Wagner too, but does she really have to do it every time? It's just a little lab work, you don't have to make a big deal out of it!"

I did my best to keep my face neutral, but it was hard not to laugh at the role-reversal. "Hmmm, that reminds me of a certain lab partner who used to blast operas during her research."

"I'll have you know it would be a crime against music itself to limit the grandiosity of Strauss with an acoustically-inferior pair of earbuds."

"Uh huh." As lab partners went, Moira was definitely an eccentric but at least she never slowed me down.

"Really, in Italy someone was nearly arreste-"

"Excuse me," a woman's voice interrupted. I turned away from Moira by my side to see a tall, bored-looking woman in a vaguely-official-looking uniform. "Sorry, the reception's over for the night."

"Aw, so soon? That's a shame." She frowned and stood up from the ledge we were sitting on, dusting herself off.

I followed suit, but something compelled me to speak up. "But I haven't yet asked you about the follow-up research yet!" 

Moira laughed. "You're still the dedicated workaholic, aren't you? "

"You're one to talk"

Moira shrugged again. "I admit my dedication to the pursuit of science, but even I know how to celebrate successes and unwind. Inspiration is helped by a fresh perspective, after all. When was the last time you didn't volunteer for extra clinic hours?"

She had me there, but damned if I was going to say it. We started walking to the main entrance, leaving the official to round up any other stragglers napping off excessive libations.

Moira either understood my silence or ignored it as she continued, "Or went out at all for that matter? And no, Angela, cooking and streaming a movie with your cat does not count."

She was the last person I wanted to hear this from; when we were together it wasn't uncommon for her to hole up in the lab for 12 hours at a time. On the other hand, if someone like her was saying I needed to get out more, that might be underscoring how bad it's been lately? I decided to file this away for later introspection when I was rather closer to sobriety. "Okay, okay, enough about that. Will you tell me anything about the follow-up research?"

"I suppose I could share some early results...in between rounds of karaoke?"

I groaned. "Fine." There was no point arguing with tipsy Moira when she got an idea in her head, and besides, I could kick her ass at it anyway.

-

Not far from the convention center was a small karaoke hall with rooms for rent by the half-hour. Business seemed to be going well; they only had a tiny room open right away. I'd have liked to have a slightly larger room; this one was a small booth barely large enough to fit a small table in the center, so quarters were tight. I wondered how three people were supposed to fit in this closet.

My right leg brushed against hers beneath the table and I moved it aside, trying not to think about the last times our legs brushed against each other. Fortunately Moira seemed fairly oblivious, focused intently on the food menu. 

"I'm in the mood for a sundae. What do you say, Angela?"

"Honestly, a sundae this late at night? I say you're incorrigible." Moira's only reply was a shit-eating grin. "I'll just have some edamame instead."

Moira rolled her eyes. "Your loss!"

We ordered the food and it arrived while Moira was serenading me with a hearty rendition of "I'll make a man out of you." It really had been a while since I'd heard her sing; she'd gotten a lot better since we'd last been to karaoke. She wasn't naturally talented at singing, but one of my favorite things about her had always been how driven she could be. If she was going to do something, she damned well planned to do it properly. Of course, it also fed her infuriating, impossible need to be at least as good as everyone else at everything. 

I applauded gamely after her performance; her rendition was great, and besides it would be impolite to do any less, right? After an over-the-top bow in response to which I could only roll my eyes, she zealously dug into her ridiculous heap of ice cream.

I started munching on the edamame. They were delicious and salty, and light enough that I wouldn't have trouble sleeping later.

"So," I asked, "About the follow-up research...what can you tell me?"

She sighed. "Why are you really here, Angela?"

"What?"

"Honestly, after the shit I pulled, you should hate me." Moira was looking at me, her usual cockiness imperceptible. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear she looked sorry.

"I do hate you." She winced, and only part of me felt bad for enjoying it. 

"Oh. Well then, if you'll oblige me a question: why did you come out with me?"

"I...because I wanted to get information from you that could help save lives. That's why I keep asking about your research."

She raised one perfectly-groomed brow. "...Naturally. Even if the results are uncertain? Even if the information comes from someone with my, shall we say, colourful reputation for experimental ethics? Angela, would you really test out this protocol on patients with only my claims to go on?" 

She had a point; if I even tried something like that, people could die and I could lose my license. "...Dammit. You're right, this was a mistake. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Maybe-" she cleared her throat. On her face, she wore an expression I was familiar with from many a 3 am lab session: a hope that she hadn't miscalculated something critical hours ago. "Maybe you weren't really thinking about getting information out of me?"

"Hm." Introspection could be hard enough before ingesting 2 ccs of ethanol, but it had been ...how many months now since I'd last been intimate? And as usual, Moira's effect on me was undeniable. "And so what if you're right? Do you really think I'll just come running back to your arms?"

"No Angela, of course not. Frankly if you did I'd lose some respect for you." I opened my mouth to throw out a sharp retort, but she continued before I could start. "I'm big enough to admit it. I owe you an apology. I was an utter ass. I won't ask for you back either. You deserve better. You deserve someone who will put you above her work, and although you are quite dear to my heart, I don't believe I can yet do that."

...This idiot was going to make me tear up. I bit my tongue to hold back the emotional high tide, words only part of me wants to say, but my wavering voice betrayed more than I cared to admit. "So if not to get back together, what do you want?"

Though her voice was steady, I could read the tension in her eyes. I could tell she was nervous as she spoke. "I'd like to propose a limited partnership. No terms, no expectations, no commitment. No strings." 

I leaned back. No expectations, huh? It had been a while since anything in my life had come with no strings. I wasn't really sure if this was a great idea, but I was only half-surprised to hear myself respond "Sure, what the hell."

Moira, on the other hand, looked considerably more than half-surprised. "Wha-" I interrupted her confused interjection, grabbing her tie and pulling her across the diminutive table into a kiss. 

I gave her a bit of slack and pulled back enough that our faces were a few centimeters apart, but she was still stretched most of the way across the table. "You taste like ice cream," I whispered.

"You taste like fucking beans," she returned with a smirk on her face.

I pulled her into a longer kiss, savoring the vanilla flavor in her mouth. I bit her lower lip as I pulled away.

"Damn, Angela." The bright glow of her cheeks alone was enough to tell me I was having the desired effect, but I recognized that tone of voice too, quiet as it was. "Why don't we, uh, get out of here."

"Oh, I don't know," I teased. "Why not stay here a while? Are you not having a nice time?"

"No! No, it's not that. I just, uh, would like to go somewhere more private."

I pulled her towards me again and nibbled on her left ear. "Why's that?" I whispered.

"Ah! Please, Angela."

Part of me wanted to tease her more, but hearing Moira beg was enough to make me wish we were somewhere more discreet too.

With some reluctance I released Moira's tie and called the waitress over on the phone for the check. When she came to deliver it, I could swear I caught the ghost of a scarcely-suppressed smirk on her face. I tried to ignore it but felt telltale heat rise in my cheeks regardless. 

We flagged down a taxi back to my hotel, her hand in mine the entire ride, our hearts furiously beating to each other in code. And after that? Well, we had a perfectly charming evening with no strings attached, of course.


End file.
